Another song fic challenge. I loved writing this one, a little bit of fluffy GSR dribble for daybydaysr.
Song: Pancakes for Dinner by Lizzy McAlpine
Quote: Emma by Jane Austen
CSI, the characters, do not belong to me. I just borrow them.
Enjoy and, as always, please review!
*There was a part that was the same as an early chapter of Baby Teeth written by Butterflies and Bees. Completely unintentional and I didn't notice until it was pointed out to me, so I've rewritten this. Not wanting to take from an amazing writer and amazing story. If you haven't read any of her stuff, I would totally recommend!*
It was the smell. It was always the same, no matter which hospital. Which state. Which town. They all smelt the same. Blood. Sweat. Disinfectant.
Lies.
No matter where she went, it followed her. Like a ghost, hunting her steps. Chilling her spine. Rising the hair of her neck.
Sara Sidle had never like hospitals. No matter which one. Her childhood had been spent going back and forth form the local Emergency Room. Lying to the nurses. Lying to the doctors. Lying to the police officers that were called.
Lies. Always lies.
That was why, when the doctor came out to give them an update, she didn't believe it. Not until she could see him for herself. Hospitals lie. People lie. So, until she could see him, hold his hand, Sara wouldn't believe the truth.
The team gathered in the hallway. Ecklie had ordered them all to go home, but none of them listened. None of them had done as they were told. They couldn't. Not until they knew he was alright. Not until they could see him.
Sara was sat on the bench, her leg jigging with the anticipation. The waiting was getting to her. Getting to them all. Warrick was pacing the hall, pounding his fist to the wall every few minutes. Catherine was on the phone, anxiously looking up whenever a member of staff passed them by.
Greg was sat next to her, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. Sara reached over and took one of his hands in hers. The young man was shaking. Greg clung onto her. He was worried, they all were.
When he was assessed at the scene, the team were told that he would be alright. But Sara couldn't get the image of him out of her mind. His pale skin. The red welts covering every inch of exposed skin she could see. Bile rose up in her throat at the memory. Her palms were clammy, sweat beaded across her forehead.
"He's fine," Warrick said, more to himself than anyone else. "He's fine. He's gunna be fine." Catherine walked up to him, enfolding the tall man in her arms. Warrick's shoulders were shaking, and harsh sobs broke out from his throat.
"He's a fighter, Rick," Catherine said, softly. "He's going to be fine." Warrick pulled away, running a hand over his face.
"It could have been any of us, man," he said. "Any one of us could have taken that call..."
"Don't," Catherine interrupted him. "Don't do that. Not again. We're all here, we're all fine."
A cold shiver ran down her spine at Warrick's words. He was right. Any of them could have taken that call. Any of them could have…
She heard his footsteps before she saw him, ears turned to the sound of him better than anything. Sara looked up, loosening a breath as her eyes caught sight of him. He looked tired. More haggard, yet the stress lines that had been etched into his face for the past 48 hours had eased.
Sara and Greg stood as Grissom drew level with them. Warrick and Catherine stopped their pacing to give the exhausted entomologist their full attention.
"He's fine. His parents are with him now," Grissom said. The anxiety that had been building up within her deflated like a balloon. Hospitals lie. People lie. But Grissom never does. He really was fine.
Catherine and Warrick let out shaky laughs, hugging each other. Greg dropped back to the bench, head in his hands. But Sara kept her eyes on Grissom. When their eyes met, she could see the exhaustion screaming out at her. He hadn't stopped since Nick had been taken, neither of them had. Yet, while the team gathered around each other, comforted each other. No one thought to check on Grissom.
He was their rock, calm and steady throughout it all. No once letting his mask slip, letting them see just how scared he truly was. But Sara could see it now. Reflecting out of the blue eyes she loved so well. The fear and pain that had haunted him from the moment they received the call.
They had almost lost him too. Almost lost both of them. The explosion could have easily taken Grissoms life, just like it took Gordons.
"There isn't anything we can do here," he continued. "We should get some rest."
"You guys go," Warrick replied. "I'm gunna go and see Nick."
"I'll come with you," Catherine offered and the two of them walked down the hall. Sara looked to Greg, he was still sitting, holding his head. Shoulders shaking with exhaustion.
"Why don't you take Greg home," Grissom said from beside her. He was watching the younger man with concern.
"Do you need a lift?" She asked him. Not convinced he was in the right frame of mind to drive.
"No. I'm going to check on Nick, then head back to the lab."
"Griss, you should go home. Get some rest." Sara lay a hand on his arm, causing him to look up at her. The familiar fluttering feeling started in her stomach. She wanted to hold him. To comfort him. To caress his hair until all the stress and fear of the last few days was washed away.
But she didn't dare. Not there. Not then. Especially not in front of Greg.
The two of them had grown closer over the last few months, but he was yet to make a move. There were times, times when she thought he would. But he always walked away. Always let his fear get the better of him. She would make it clear, one last time. Then leave it to him. But not now. They needed rest. To process what had happened. But soon. Life was too short.
"I'll be fine," Grissom replied. "Take Greg home. I don't want to see either of you in the lab until tomorrow." His eyes were searching her face, something she couldn't read shining within them. He opened his mouth once more, but closed it and walked away without another word.
Sara watched him go, her heart breaking with the pain he must be feeling. She turned to Greg, pulling him to his feet and guiding him to the door. Greg didn't say much as they drove to his apartment. And exited the vehicle with only a soft "thanks" and a squeeze of the hand. But Sara didn't mind. She wasn't really sure what to say either.
When she got home, she stripped off her dirty work clothes. Mud and grime caked into her skin and under her nails from where she helped dig Nick out of that hole. Hot water from her shower washed the dirt away. Relaxing her muscles and the steam rising around her cleared her lungs.
She was in the middle of making a cup of tea, dressed in jogging bottoms and tank top, her wet hair curling around her shoulders, when a knock sounded. Sara frowned. Warrick and Catherine were still at the hospital and Greg was home. There was no one else she could think of that would come to her apartment at this time of night. Well, she thought when she checked the clock on the wall, morning.
A sigh escaped her lips. She was tired. Mentally and emotionally exhausted and not in any mood to entertain. All she wanted to do was curl up on the sofa. Cup of tea in hand, and watch some mind-numbing TV program, before slipping into bed. Hopefully sleeping for more than a few hours.
The knock sounded again, a little louder than the first, and Sara walked over. Her eyebrows quirked when she looked through the peephole.
"Grissom?" She said, when she opened the door. "I thought you were going to the lab?"
"I was," he replied. "But then I found myself here." He shrugged a little. Sara stepped back, allowing him room to enter. He walked past her, placing a box on the counter. The unmistakable scent filling the room.
"Pancakes?" She asked, closing the door.
"I thought you might want some dinner."
"Pancakes for dinner?" She moved around him, opening the box and breathing in the smell floating up. Grissom gave her a small, hesitant smile. His eyes still alight with the same emotion she couldn't read at the hospital.
"I, uh, wasn't sure what you would be hungry for." He turned away from her and started to rummage through her cabinets.
"Top left," Sara said, and Grissom pulled down two plates. He wasn't looking at her, avoiding her gaze as he separated the food.
"Cutlery?" He asked, face still turned from her.
"Draw by the sink." There was something wrong. He was uneasy. Jumpy. Nervous energy coursing off him. His shoulders tense. Hands constantly moving.
"Grissom," Sara called to him, hesitantly. "Is everything ok?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" He continued to move around her kitchen, even after getting everything ready for their breakfast-dinner. Like he was afraid. Afraid of her.
Sara moved around the counter, walking up behind him. She placed a hand to his shoulder and Grissom flinched. Still, he did not turn. Trembling under her touch. Sara turned him, so he was facing her.
He was trapped between her and the counter, head hanging with his chin to his chest. Still refusing to look at her. Slowly, Sara brought her hand up to cup his cheek. Lifting it to face her.
What met her was so much pain, it took her breath away.
"Griss, why are you here?" Her voice was gentle, low. Coaxing him. "I know you didn't come all this way, just to give me pancakes."
Grissom sighed. A mournful, heartfelt sigh which pierced her soul. Sara drew closer to him, not enough for their bodies to touch. But enough that she could feel the heat of him. Enough that he could feel her. His body relaxed under her touch, and Grissom pressed his cheek into her palm.
"We almost lost him, Sara," Grissom said. His voice thick with unshed tears, and Sara could feel her own burning her eyes. "We almost lost him. He could have died."
"He didn't. He's alive. He's safe, and the doctors say he's going to make a full recovery."
"Yeah," Grissom agreed on a sigh. Sara gave him a small smile before pulling away. She should have known, known that he would need that reassurance. That, that was why he came. With Warrick and Catherine still at the hospital, it made sense that he came to her. There was no one else. He needed to be with someone, anyone. Needed someone to help take his mind of off what had happened.
So that's what she would do. They would have dinner. Sara would talk, or over talk as was her want. She would try to make him smile. Then he would leave. He would always leave.
"Do you have any regrets?" He asked, out of the blue, from behind her. Sara turned with a slight frown.
"Regrets?"
"Yeah. Say, if you were to die tomorrow, would there be anything you would regret doing… or not doing?" His eyes were searching hers.
"I… uh, a few… I guess."
"You guess?"
"We all have regrets, Grissom," Sara said. "We all have things we wish we had done, or hadn't. But, unless there is something we can do about them, there is no point on dwelling. It only causes pain. Sometimes we have to let them go and move on."
"It that what you've done?" He asked her. Never, in all the years she had known Gil Grissom, had she seen him looking so vulnerable. "Have you… moved on?"
"I…" she started. There were so many things he could be referring too. So many regrets she could name. So many things she could be moving on from. But Sara knew which one he was talking about. Still, she couldn't answer. Her brain did not want to connect with her mouth, and no words came out.
"Do you know what I regret the most?" Grissom asked her after a moment.
"Tell me."
"You." Pain filtered across her face, but Grissom continued before it had a chance to settle. "The way I've behaved. The way I've treated you. I've tried, over the last couple of months. To tell you, to show you how I... But I can never find the right words, the right moment."
Sara's mouth dropped open a little, her eyes flicking back and forth between his. She stuttered, no knowing what to say. His eyes were so wide, begging her to see what he wasn't able to vocalise.
She turned. Her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Pulse thumping at her ears.
"Would you know, Sara?" Grissom asked. Sara placed her hands on the counter as she felt him come up behind her. The heat of him seeping into her body. "If I had died in that explosion…"
"Don't," Sara interrupted him. "Don't even say that." The very thought of him dying was enough to throw and icy wind down her back.
"If I had," he continued, his chest pressed against her back. "Would you know. Know that I have spent every moment, since we first met, thinking about you?" Gently, slowly, he turned her. The small of her back pressed against the counter. "That I see you, everywhere."
"Griss…" He placed a finger to her lips, silencing her.
"That I think about taking walks in the park with you. Holding your hand over dinner. Taking you dancing." His hand slid to her cheek, cupping it. "I dream about making you breakfast in bed. Sitting down, on a Sunday evening, doing a crossword puzzle. With you, cuddled up to my side. I imagine taking you home, after a difficult day, and putting you in a bath. Rubbing your shoulders until all the stress has left your body."
He pressed against her, she could feel every inch of him. Her body was on fire. She wanted to look away from him. But the heat of his gaze was intoxicating. It pinned her, more thoroughly than his body.
"I dream of taking you out on a boat, looking for bugs. I think about watching you work, and kissing you when you look at me with that Sidle Smile once you've worked out the puzzle. I think about having pancakes for dinner." He brought his head down to her, leaning her forehead against hers. "Would you know that?"
"Grissom," Sara breathed.
"I know I've hurt you, Sara. I know I've confused you. Frustrated you. I know that I've pushed you away, when all I've wanted to do was pull you closer." A hand settled on her waist. Her skin burned at the touch through her top. "What is it, the hero says in that book you like so much? If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am."
Sara's breath caught in her throat. He said it. He actually said it. Tears welled up in her eyes. She had heard Grissom quote Shakespeare. Emmerson. Thoreau. But never Jane Austen. Now he has, to tell her…
"You know me, Sara. More than anyone has ever known me before. You scare me and excite me in equal measure. I have never known a person such as you. Your empathy and compassion amaze me. Your intelligence astounds me. Your beauty leaves me speechless. And your tenaciousness is something that I find both frustrating and inspiring."
"Grissom," Sara said, without really knowing what she was going to say.
"You told me once, that one day I could be too late. And if I am." He hesitated, eyes shuttering a little at the thought. "I'd understand, and that's something that I will have to live with. But I can't live with another day going by without you knowing. I can't face another moment like that one in the barn, thinking that I was about to die, without you knowing just how I feel about you."
"Grissom."
"Please, tell me I'm not. Tell me that I'm not too late. Tell me that I haven't screwed this up. Tell me…"
"Gil," Sara interrupted him, bringing her hand to his face. "Will you just kiss me already?"
The smile that lit Grissom's face could only be described as pure joy. Shining as brightly as the sun. Blinding her. His eyes, so blue, so beautiful, scanned her face as his mouth dipped.
When their lips touched, Sara through the ground gave way from under them. He was gentle, soft. Slowly moving his mouth against hers. An arm snaked around her waist, holding her up as her knees buckled. Pressing her flush against him. Sara clutched the fabric at his shoulder, keeping herself steady as she opened herself to him. Pouring everything she felt into that kiss.
Grissom pulled back, breaking the kiss. Breathing heavily against her cheek. His arm around her. Their chests still pressed against each other. In all her fantasies, she never imagined kissing Gil Grissom to be anything like that. The reality, the real feel of him, was so much more than she could ever dream.
Grissom's hand glided down her side, brushing against her breast for a fraction of a second before settling on her waist. The other, at her back, sneaked under her top. Sara shivered as his calloused fingers grazed her skin. Goosebumps erupting across her entire body.
This time, she initiated the kiss. Bringing his mouth back to hers. There was nothing soft or gentle about this next one. Their tongues battelled with each other and Sara fisted her hand in his hair. Grissoms roamed her body. One bringing her top up as it explored her back. The other dropping to cup her ass. He pulled up a little, and Sara hopped onto the counter, wrapping her legs around his hips. Drawing him in. She could feel him, perfectly lined up with her core. A moan escaping her lips as her ground into her. His hardness heating her.
The pull to her centre was stronger than she had ever felt. Her body was on fire. Her desire threatened to overwhelm her as the feel of him surrounded her.
Sara's hands were everywhere. Touching every inch of him that she could.
"The pancakes are getting cold," Sara said, breathlessly, in between kisses.
"I'm not hungry," Grissom admitted against her mouth.
"I am." She grinned a little when she looked into his eyes. The pupils were dilated, desire beaming out of them. But also, a hint of disappointment at her words. But, being the gentleman he was, Grissom extracted his hands form her top and stepped back to allow her room to jump down.
Before he could get any further, however, Sara gripped his shoulder. "I didn't say I was hungry for pancakes." She pursed her lips together into that Sidle Smile he loved so much, and Grissom face split into grin. Eyes darkening as Sara took his hand and lead him to her bedroom.
They never did get round to the pancakes. But every Sunday after, while cuddled together doing a crossword, they would have pancakes for dinner.
